


The Price of His Love

by raspberryhunter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Extremely Ahistorical, M/M, Revenge, history what history, just deserts?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17584880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: King George III smiles exultantly as the defeated rebels are paraded before him in chains.





	The Price of His Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Wavesinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wavesinger/gifts).



> Oh man, I feel like I should apologize to actual!George III. Um. But whatever it is, Lin-Manuel Miranda started it? :) Happy Chocolate Box!
> 
> Thank you to my beta!

King George III smiles exultantly as the defeated rebels are paraded before him in chains. The entire war was worth it, he thinks in delicious satisfaction, for this moment, the moment of victory, the moment when the rebels know that he, George III, is their monarch and lord. They will always come back to him. They have come back to him. They are his, forever and ever.

Last, of course, is General Washington. Washington, his nemesis, the one who thought he could go against King George and win.

The rebel leader comes before the throne. The man is half-naked in his chains, wearing only breeches, as is only fit for a colonial rebel. King George lets his eyes travel over Washington's bare torso, his muscular arms and thighs. Washington stands straight and tall, unashamed, proud, his face utterly impassive. For all Washington's expression shows it, they might have been meeting as two heads of state, rather than conqueror and conquered.

But oh, King George thinks gleefully, Washington shall know what it is to be defeated. Yes. The King feels himself become aroused at the thought of it, and suddenly desire mounts so strongly in him that he wants it now, state business be damned. He claps his hands. "We are done with the business of the Crown for today!" he says cheerfully and abruptly, and when the guards start chivvying Washington out: "No, not him. He comes with me."

He rises and makes his way to his rooms. He does not look behind him on the way there, but he can hear the steady tread of Washington's guard and the clinking of the chains on Washington's ankles and wrists as the prisoner shuffles along.

When they get to his chambers, King George waves the guard away, closes the door, and turns to face Washington. He runs a finger over Washington's bare shoulder, enjoying the way Washington very obviously tries not to shiver at his touch."Kneel."

Washington does not kneel. He stays standing, though he does not speak.

Oh, George finds this resistance charming, even arousing. He can feel himself harden even more, the blood beating wildly in him. But of course such insubordination cannot be allowed to continue.

"Your aide-de-camp," he says softly. "That little man, Alexander Hamilton, I think his name was? He is still alive. I suppose you would rather he remain that way. I could, of course, have him tortured first…"

There is a flicker in the depths of Washington's eyes, but it passes. He kneels, awkwardly around the chains, bending that stiff neck. George grins and divests himself of clothing so Washington can see his erect cock. He is aware that he is a less imposing figure than Washington, but it only makes him more eager for Washington's own body. "Go on, General Washington," he says, stepping up to him, until the tip of his cock, engorged and red, is an inch away from Washington's dark face. He watches Washington eye it with barely concealed distaste. "Let me see what you can do."

Washington gives him a look that George can tell is compounded of hatred and dismay, which only makes George more gleefully excited. And when Washington bends his head and he feels Washington's tongue come out to caress him, he thinks he will go mad from the sheer pleasure, all his nerve endings crying out with the exquisite torture of his desire for this rebel colonist.

"Stop," he says, and Washington obediently stops. George tugs Washington's breeches down, grins to see that Washington is not as completely passive as he tries to make out. For the first time, Washington displays a hint of emotion: shame. And George's grin only gets larger.

"Inside me," he says, arranging himself on the ground. Perhaps -- yes -- he will let Washington, after all, enter him. The conqueror shall play at being conquered for a short while. He shudders with anticipatory delight, thinking of Washington's cock inside of him, stretching him. Oh yes. 

He looks back, sees Washington's face drawn in revulsion -- whether in disgust at George or at himself George cannot tell -- and giggles a little to himself, savoring Washington's emotions. Washington hisses, just the faintest sound of air between his teeth, and George almost comes right then, hearing it. But before he can, Washington obediently stabs his cock into him. At the weight of it, George grunts, slightly with pain, but more with desire. Washington, breathing hard, pierces him again and again, and it is the hostility animating the body pushing against his as much as it is the motion itself that makes George's body contort and seems to explode with ecstasy, with an intensity he has never felt before, as he feels Washington also buck against him.

George lies prone on the ground, spent. My favorite subject, he thinks, in lazy post-coital contentment. He rolls over to look at Washington, who for the first time avoids his eyes. "Ah, Washington," he says aloud, "we shall have fun together, you and I."

Washington says nothing, not then, not when George cleans himself, not when George calls for the guards to take Washington back to prison.

*

In the several months following, Washington never gives him a moment of trouble, not even when George experiments with handling Washington more or less roughly (not so hard as to disfigure him, he's not a _monster_ ) and whether that enhances or detracts from George's pleasure. (It enhances it.) Once or twice the King thinks he sees that same flicker he saw that first day, but all he has to do is invoke the name of one of Washington's inferiors and Washington will do anything that the King requires of him. Anything.

King George III becomes careless. There is really no other word for it.

He has been looking at Washington's hands as the guard escorted him to his rooms, and thinking of what those hands could do. He knows what Washington's lips can do, now, and his tongue, and his cock (ah, ah, next to Washington they all look small, they do), and to think of those large, clever fingers stroking him, running up and down his body.

And he takes the key to the manacles from his robes. 

He turns the key, and the iron shackles fall to the ground.

Washington's eyes widen, and in that split second the King knows it was a mistake, knows it right before those large hands go, not to pleasure the King, but to the King's neck, squeezing. He is very strong. The King scrabbles with his own hands, but he can't dislodge Washington's. "You and your friends," he wheezes, "will die, die painfully…"

Washington jerks, as if he's been reminded of something, and lets George fall, striding to the door. He unlocks it, opens it a crack. "Alex?"

The guard bursts into the room. "Guard!" George rasps, with dawning hope, flailing his arms about. Washington has made his last mistake, not making sure George was dead. He will be captured, and George will enjoy watching him tortured, he will _pay_ \--

"Sir!" says the guard, in what sounds like barely masked anguish, looking not at George III, but at Washington. _Wait. I have seen him before._

"Alex," Washington says again, relief washing through his features, taking the hand of what George realizes is a disguised guard — somehow, somehow, in the months since they were imprisoned, one of the rebels has managed to escape, has managed to infiltrate _his men_ — 

That man closes the door behind him, softly. And George understands in infuriated disbelief that no one is coming, and he is incensed by the ignominy of it all; he is going to die, but to die at the hand of a _rebel_! 

Washington takes the dagger the disguised guard gives him and without hesitation thrusts the dagger deep into George, down to the hilt, all the weight of his own body behind it. George jerks against it, gasping and groaning. Washington thrusts again, and again, against the writhing of George's body under him. _You were mine to subdue!_ George tries to say, _you were mine!_ but only a small sound comes out.

Then there is silence for an instant. "Let's go, Alex, and find the others," George hears Washington say, almost calmly, and then the darkness overtakes him.


End file.
